


i'm holding every breath for you

by skitter_17



Series: maplekeene songfics [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining, Secret Crush, Songfic, idk man just argo's in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25049335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitter_17/pseuds/skitter_17
Summary: Argo will never admit who his secret 'lover' (read: crush) is, but it's a miracle he hasn't noticed.Maplekeene songfic for I'd Lie by Taylor Swift
Relationships: Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Series: maplekeene songfics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811428
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	i'm holding every breath for you

**Author's Note:**

> look man, i can't stop writing songfics. I think I've posted three this week? what's time?  
> the random sister/eye colour/birthday details are just to fit the song (haha i gave fitzroy my birthday because i could) but you can pry my 'fitzroy is close with his parents and looks up to jerry maplecourt even as a caravan driver and lowkey loves driving (which wouldn't be THAT common in this universe because most people ride horses) for that reason because he used to ride in his dad's caravan' headcanon from my cold dead hands okay?
> 
> also, this was meant to be less angsty, but if argo isn't pining is it really maplekeene?
> 
> eventually i'm going to songfic every song in my maplekeene playlist and boy is my music taste unsophisticated according to my friends. also customary this was barely editted, i read through it once

I’d Lie

_I don't think that passenger seat  
Has ever looked this good to me  
He tells me about his night  
And I count the colours in his eyes_

It’s been a long day, and the Thundermen are all varying levels of grateful to be able to enjoy a carriage ride back from Last Hope instead of having to ride, or, gods forbid, walk. As far as Argo can tell, the Firbolg doesn’t really care how they get home, and Argo’s happiness is quietly maintained. Fitzroy, however, groans the whole way to the carriage about how _finally they’re showing some level of basic decency_ and _I can’t believe it took them this long to give us a carriage_ , et cetera. Argo isn’t really listening to the words. He’s just listening to Fitzroy’s voice.

Fitzroy looks up in shock at the sight of the carriage. “I had thought they’d have given us a driver,” he says offhandedly, “but I have always wanted to drive my own carriage!”

Argo raises an eyebrow. “You know how to drive a carriage?”

“You don’t?” Fitzroy laughs, and even though he’s being laughed at, Argo’s heart warms in his chest. “Of course I can drive, Argo, everyone can drive.”

“I cannot,” the Firbolg argues.

“I can,” Argo says, “but I ‘spose I just assumed Sir Fancylad would’ve always had drivers, and so never bothered to learn.”

That’s a half-lie. Argo did assume that Fitzroy couldn’t drive, but he had assumed it on the basis that he never would’ve had a reason to learn, because few people do. When he thinks about it, though, Argo figures out the real reason Fitzroy says ‘my own carriage’, and why he knows how. Fitzroy doesn’t know that Argo knows his father’s a long-haul caravaner, though, so Argo doesn’t say anything.

“I vill sit in the back,” the Firbolg says. 

Which means Argo gets to sit next to Fitzroy. His heart is thumping in his chest as he shrugs and says, completely nonchalantly, “I guess I’ll sit in the front with you, then, Fitz.”

Fitzroy has no visible reaction to this as they all climb in the carriage. Argo’s leg brushes up against Fitzroy’s, and if there’s anything Argo’s become very good at, it’s keeping his reaction minimal, as much as he wants to reach for Fitzroy every time they touch and pull him into a kiss. No, all that has to stay buried.

Fitzroy takes up the reigns, a seed of excitement in his eyes that he’s trying to restrain. Argo wishes he could just admit that Fitzroy doesn’t need to restrain himself around Argo; the wonderous beauty that Fitzroy keeps hidden for fear of what he might be seen as is Argo’s favourite thing. Deep in his hazel eyes there’s such a love for the world that was hidden, displaced, overwritten by years of being treated as lesser, like dirt, of never having agency. There are flecks of green, just as there’s flecks of hope; a small ring of yellow, like there’s a small ring of wonder around the fear and underneath the enforced worthlessness. The biggest ring around the outside of his eye is grey, like the defences that Fitzroy has built. The locks that Argo picked right through, although Fitzroy has yet to notice.

“So,” Argo says conversationally, hands held close in front of him, “what happened while I was out?”

_He'll never fall in love he swears  
As he runs his fingers through his hair  
I'm laughing 'cause I hope he's wrong_

“Oh, my. You wouldn’t believe it,” Fitzroy says, in the tone of a beginning of a rant, and Argo smiles at the thought. “The demon? Well, she was supposed to be, like, some kind of succubus, but like… a wholesome one? It was really weird, honestly, Argo. Be glad you were knocked out pretty early. She was trying to get all cuddly and kissy, and she called me _sweetums,_ Argo, _sweetums!-_ you should’ve seen it. The Firbolg actually went under her charm for a moment and gods, it was disgusting. Love is gross. I will never fall in love if that’s what it’s like.”

One of Fitzroy’s hands holds the reins, and the other scratches through his once-silky hair, detangling it and showing its true curliness underneath the excessive styling. Argo’s not imagining the Firbolg acting all cute with a demon, because he’s thinking about Fitzroy’s words and how wrong they are. How wrong Argo hopes they are, at least.

Argo’s not sure why a laugh escapes his throat. “Love ain’t like that,” he says. “Not unless ya want it to be.”

_And I don't think it ever crossed his mind  
He tells a joke, I fake a smile  
But I know all his favourite songs  
And..._

Fitzroy looks at him out of the corner of his eye, a quirk of his mouth that quickens Argo’s pulse. “Why?” he grins. “Is that how you and your secret lover act, hmm? Do you call them _sweetums_?”

It’s true, the idea makes Argo want to vomit. But Argo could’ve told you months ago that the person he secretly loved would’ve hated being called such a thing. He shakes his head and smiles at Fitzroy’s joke, but it’s not actually very funny, because Fitzroy thinks that Argo is in love with someone who’s not him, and he has no idea that maybe Argo’s attention isn’t on some shady person he just sends mail to sometimes.

Argo begins to hum a little tune, one he didn’t know until recently, under his breath. Just loud enough for Fitzroy to hear it. When he closes his eyes, he can hear Fitzroy singing it quietly through the walls at night before he goes to bed.

“Hey,” Fitzroy says after a moment. “That’s my favourite song! Did you know that, you sly dog?”

Argo can’t help the way he smiles, as he lies. “No. It’s one of my favourites, too.”

_I could tell you his favourite colour's green  
He loves to argue, born on the seventeenth  
His sister's beautiful, he has his father's eyes  
And if you asked me if I love him,  
I'd lie_

There’s quite a bit of silence before Fitzroy speaks. Argo lets the silence go, just enjoying Fitzroy’s company, until he’s asked, “you know, Argo, you never did tell me about your lover.”

Argo chuckles lowly at the irony. “I told ya some stuff, didn’t I? Namely that we weren’t actually lovers.”

“Yes, yes, you told me that you’d never met. But you didn’t object to the implication that you had feelings for such person. If it’s all the same to you, I am curious about the kind of person who’d catch Argonaut Keene’s eye, you know?”

 _I bet you would be._ “Well, I can tell you a few things about them.”

How honest should he be when Fitzroy takes a moment, before prodding, “go on?”

Argo leans back, searching his mind for free information that’s not too telling. Honest, but not giving away his secret. “Well,” he begins cautiously, “their favourite colour is green.”

“Hmm.” Fitzroy doesn’t seem to register that as strange. “How do you know this? Did you ask them, or…?”

“I don’t remember.” That’s a lie. Argo’s not sure, but Fitzroy’s favourite cloak is green, as is his favourite notebook that he writes most of his notes in.

“It seems like such a lame conversation topic, though, doesn’t it? _What’s your favourite colour._ I don’t go around telling everyone that my favourite colour is seafoam, and I bet you don’t talk about your love of blue very often, because nobody cares. Who cares?”

“Why’d ya assume my favourite colour is blue? It’s royal purple.” But of course Argo was right, and Fitzroy’s favourite colour _is_ green. He’s just too pretentious to realise seafoam is a type of green. “Is it because I’m blue?”

“No,” Fitzroy says defensively, “it’s because your favourite coat is blue. You pretty much never take the thing off.”

“I’m told it looks good on me.” Fitzroy is the one who said that. “Y- my, uh, penpal friend said so.”

“Oh, this friend that you’ve never met?”

“Yes, they did. They’ve seen what I look like. I could’ve sent them a picture,” Argo huffs defensively. “Gods, they’re almost as argumentative as you are.”

“Almost as argumentative as I am? Well, I bet I’m more handsome than they are.”

Argo pauses to think about that one, and Fitzroy looks straight ahead like nothing's wrong. “You sound jealous, Fitz.”

Fitzroy sputters. “I do not. I was simply making a statement.”

Argo’s kind of grateful to see the spire of the school approaching on the horizon, because he doesn’t want to accidentally blurt out the truth in this whole mess. “Alright, Fitz, you tell yourself that.”

“Shut up, Argo, shut up.” Argo avoids looking at Fitzroy, as much as he wants to see if that blush he’s imagining based on the sound of those words is real or not. He has to come across nonchalant.

There’s a long second where Argo does shut up, before Fitzroy says, sounding almost worried, “well, is- is- is this lover of yours handsome or not? Don’t leave me hanging, Argo.”

Argo shrugs, walking a very, very fine line. “I guess so.” If Fitzroy’s talking about himself, then the answer is an internal _yes of course_ , and an external eye-roll.

“And- and- do you love them?”

Finally, Argo turns to look at Fitzroy. His face is red, for as even as he’s desperately trying to keep his expression. When Fitzroy asks that question, he’s technically referring to the person Argo was sending letters to- which is Fitzroy’s own mother.

“No,” Argo says in that context, but it feels like a lie. It’s a lie if he’s talking about Fitzroy.

_He looks around the room  
Innocently overlooks the truth  
Shouldn't a light go on?  
Doesn't he know that I've had him memorised for so long?_

They arrive at the school and back into their dorms. Fitzroy enters first, dumping his bag on the table and sighing deeply. “My, I am bone tired,” he complains, raising his arms up and stretching, showing off his abs. Argo unsuccessfully tries not to stare.

The Firbolg walks past Argo’s distracted form, nearly knocking him over. “I am going straight to sleep,” the Firbolg says, in his typical slow and deep voice. “I am also, as you say, bone tired.”

Argo nods. “Hmm, yeah, sounds fair, uh.” He’s barely listening, still staring at Fitzroy, taking in the curve of his ears, the light freckles across his nose and cheeks, the little dimple in his face as he frowns, the furrow of his brow, every little bump and imperfection in the skin of his face.

Fitzroy looks at him, and Argo doesn’t know how he doesn’t see the way Argo’s just staring, slack-jawed and probably blushing a little, eyes wide and pupils dilated. “I’ll be in my room if either of you need me,” he says too quickly, acting like he doesn’t even register Argo’s presence before putting a door between the two of them.

_He sees everything black and white  
Never let nobody see him cry  
I don't let nobody see me wishing he was mine_

Argo stands dumbfounded for a second, staring at the door, wondering if he did something wrong.

“Did you do something wrong, Argo?”

Argo turns to look at the Firbolg, dead-eyed. “Nothing that I know of,” he mutters. “Fitzroy asked me about this lover he thinks I have, I guess.”

“Mmm. He seems… upset.”

“Really?” Argo hadn’t thought about that straight away, but storming into your room immediately is possibly a sign of that, yes. “Well, I insinuated that he was jealous of this supposed lover, and I don’t think he was happy with that.”

The Firbolg nods. “He vishes he vas your lover?”

Argo has to laugh. If only. “I don’t think that’s true,” Argo says. “It’s just that… I don’t even know what he thinks, Firby. I just know that he thinks _something,_ and that he hasn’t thought it through in all the nuances, and he’s upset about it and doesn’t want us to see it, and he’s going to torture himself with what-ifs and blacks and whites until he forgets about it.”

The Firbolg looks at Argo, considering. “That is a wery astute thought, Argo. You know Fitzroy… vell.”

Argo’s defence mechanism kicks in. “Nah, not really. I’m just observant, is all.”

_I could tell you his favourite colour's green  
He loves to argue, born on the seventeenth  
His sister's beautiful, he has his father's eyes  
And if you asked me if I love him,  
I'd lie_

“Who is this… lover, you talk about? Who Fitzroy is jealous of?”

Fitzroy. “They aren’t my lover,” Argo admits. “Just a friend, that I kind of… like, you could say?” Lie. “They’re, uh. Very cool. Argumentative,” he says with a bit of bitterness, thinking back to the carriage. “Their birthday, it’s the seventeenth of January, not that any of their friends know that. He has a sister, although he didn’t actually tell me about her, I… kind of just found out. She’s really pretty, though. He sorta distances himself from his parents, but he really loves them, and he kinda takes after his father, or at least, he seems to have really bonded with him when he was a kid, ‘cause his father drives-“

Argo stops, realising all he’s confessing, and that he was _this close_ from dropping identifying information, and really already has, even if it’s information the Firbolg wouldn’t have known.

“You said you only like… him,” the Firbolg says. “It sounds like you… love him.”

Argo scoffs, even as his heart is full at the memory of something as simple as Fitzroy’s eyes. “I don’t,” he lies.

_He stands there, then walks away  
My god if I could only say,  
"I'm holding every breath for you..."_

Oh, it’s lucky that Argo stopped talking, because Fitzroy comes out of his room and walks straight to the kitchen. Argo perceives the slight redness of his eyes and fears he’s upset him.

Fitzroy takes something out of the fridge. “I forgot,” he says without looking at either of his henchmen, “that I hadn’t had my glass of warm milk.”

And Argo wants to laugh so bad, because he knew Fitzroy couldn’t sleep without his glass of warm milk, which was _so stupid,_ but also _so Fitzroy._

Fitzroy pours himself a glass of milk and prestidigitates it warm before downing it, almost like he’s in a rush. When he looks back, he meets Argo’s eyes, and they stare at each other; Argo feels his heart in his throat and swallows down the love that bubbles up out of him. He wishes he could say anything at all.

Fitzroy visibly swallows his nerves before putting his glass in the sink and heading back into his room, shutting the door behind him.

_He'd never tell you but he can play guitar  
I think he can see through everything but my heart_

The Firbolg doesn’t ask any more questions, and as Argo lays awake, trying to sleep, he can hear faint notes through the wall. Quiet guitar plucking, better than Argo had expected Fitzroy to be, even though he knew Fitzroy had a guitar. It’s the same song Argo was singing in the carriage.

How could he not know Argo was talking about him?

_First thought when I wake up  
Is "My god, he's beautiful."  
So I put on my make-up  
And pray for a miracle_

The next morning, Argo’s getting ready in the bathroom he shares with the Firbolg. He just woke up from a dream that he doesn’t remember much of, except that Fitzroy’s face was pretty near his, and when he tried to lean closer, his heart beat so fast that he woke up.

Argo’s carefully lining his eyelid when he hears Fitzroy talking to the Firbolg. He can’t make out any words, just Fitzroy’s voice, and he closes his eyes, pretending for just a moment that Fitzroy’s his.

He smiles, and then opens his eyes, back to reality.

There’s hope somewhere, Argo thinks as he finishes the wing of the second eye. If the truth comes out about everything, if they make it out of this school alive, if Fitzroy accepts every shady truth that Argo’s keeping from him.

Argo’s accepted all of Fitzroy’s shady truths, but Fitzroy doesn’t know that.

_Yes, I could tell you his favourite colour's green  
He loves to argue, oh, and it kills me  
His sister's beautiful, he has his father's eyes  
And if you asked me if I love him  
If you asked me if I love him  
I’d lie_

But right now, in the present, Argo watches Fitzroy, and that's enough. He learns about him, and as he learns about him he falls deeper and deeper in love. His favourite colour is _seafoam_ green. His arguments are pretty constant, and Argo has to laugh, remembering Fitzroy’s reaction to the questions he himself was asking, most of his sadness coming from a failure to understand. Fitzroy’s little sister loves him, and he loves her, even if they didn’t talk that much these days. He looks like his father and secretly looks up to him, even if he’d never admit it. He has beautiful eyes, a beautiful smile, and a beautiful soul he's afraid of the world seeing. But Argo sees it, and he loves it.

Argo lies and lies and lies, but there's one fundamental truth he holds onto tight, that grounds him, that keeps his heart beating and his lungs breathing: he loves Fitzroy Maplecourt.

**Author's Note:**

> also, lol: their favourite colours were literally just what might relate to the other because that is gay


End file.
